


WANT...NEED

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Medium is the Message<br/>Early in their relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	WANT...NEED

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2008

       Justin propped his chin in his hand and blew out an impatient whoosh of air. He had been staring into space for what seemed like forever. Although resigned to being time's reluctant hostage for the next half hour, every now and then he'd glance at the clock and curse under his breath. The wretchedly snail-like movement grated on his nerves like sandpaper.  
  
       In between fidgeting in his chair and shuffling his feet, he tapped a restless pen on the desk. He choked back a laugh at the image of a one-man band but couldn't stop a muffled snort from sneaking out. Not everyone was a fan of his musicality, though. The incessant clackety clack echoed like a woodpecker on steroids. Unfazed by the glares of the other students, he only looked away when he caught the disapproving gaze of his professor.  
  
       What the fuck did he expect, a Shakespeare sonnet? What the fuck kind of test was this? He was an art major, not an English major. What did this have to do with art? If the man had asked for a visual medium to demonstrate feelings, no problem. But to write about them? He shook his head. That’s why he loved art. It gave him cathartic freedom to express what he couldn't or wouldn't say. His paintings were visual extensions of himself.  
  
       He sighed and sighed again. _What to write_. Ten minutes passed. He shifted in his seat and searched the ingrained scratches on the wood for inspiration. Nothing. Another ten minutes went by. Still a blank slate, he scanned the room for a sympathetic eye, but his classmates were hunched over their desks, scribbling like people possessed. And it annoyed him.  
  
       He envied their ability to bare their souls, to be so open about their emotions. It contrasted so drastically with his current attempt to submerge his own. That thought raised his irritation to another level and set his teeth on edge. Obviously, he didn't _have_ to suppress his feelings. It just...it just made things easier. They caused too many problems. He snickered at how Brian's cynicism had rubbed off on him, and then he smiled at his clever play on words.   
  
       Brian. He indulged in a fleeting respite of distracted daydreams about the man who consumed and inhabited his very being, so much so he wasn’t sure where he ended and Brian began. He would never admit it, but the idea worried him sometimes. Was he losing too much of himself and not getting enough in return?    
  
       A boisterous sneeze pierced the classroom quiet like a firecracker. The noise startled the crap out of him but unwittingly provided the catalyst to jumpstart his creativity. He rummaged for paper in his cluttered backpack and feverishly started writing.  
  
       Transported to the plane of existence where the gifted turned ordinary into extraordinary, he only became aware of how much time had passed when his professor loomed in front of his desk. His head jerked up and his eyes darted around. Heat flushed his face. He was the only one left.  
  
      “Mr. Taylor, the class is over. I do hope you’ve finished the assignment, despite your unvoiced but noticeable skepticism over its logic.” A subtle rebuke edged his words, but he added with a distinct chuckle, “Your rapture with the magnificent view of the building next door didn't escape my attention.”

      Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Justin hurriedly shoved his supplies in his bag. “I, I’m done.” But the lone sheet of looseleaf stared up at him, challenging him to entrust its contents to this stranger, to reveal in words what he admitted in art.  
  
       Professor Rand peered over his reading glsses and picked up the paper. “May I?”  
  
       He relinquished ownership with a shrug. “Sure. It’s yours anyway.” He couldn't get away fast enough and double-timed his steps toward the door.  
  
      “Mr. Taylor...”  
  
       He froze and warily turned around, certain his self-indulgent outpouring hadn’t garnered a positive review. “Yes?” _Here it comes._  
  
      “Well done, Mr. Taylor.”  
  
       His eyes widened at the unexpected compliment.“Thank you, Professor.”  
  
       Halfway out the door he heard, “Justin, you must care for him a great deal.”  
  
       He hesitated, struggling to convey what Brian meant to him. There were no words. He simply said, “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

 

                                    

 

 


End file.
